


We Fell Like Building Blocks

by Jo_busch_got_booty



Category: Attack on Titan, Shingeki no Kyojin, Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan, snk - Fandom
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-03
Updated: 2015-06-03
Packaged: 2018-04-02 18:21:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4069900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jo_busch_got_booty/pseuds/Jo_busch_got_booty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean isn't sure why he bothered most of the time, because it always ended poorly</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

My alarm clock woke me earlier than I had hoped. 

The sound of some overrated pop song blared irritably in my ear, and I slammed my hand down on the stop button without opening my eyes. Birds chirped happily out my window, their calls coming early in the summer morning. I didn't bother checking my cell phone. I knew it would be full of apologetic messages, Sasha badgering to see what was wrong, Marco asking for updates--

Or maybe not. Maybe it would be a blank screen, with only flashing numbers alerting me of the time. I wasn't sure which scenario scared me more. 

I threw an arm over my eye with a loud groan, too afraid to look around the room. I'd see photographs of smiling faces, kisses on the cheek. I still wasn't sure how to feel about anything, my head still stung like a bitch, but I wasn't sure if it was from the car crash or my heartache. I rolled out of bed with a heavy sigh, walking like a zombie down the hall to my bathroom, arms out so I wouldn't have to open my eyes. I wasn't ready for that. Not yet. 

I didn't flinch away from the shower water. It started like ice, hail pounding down on my back, then mercilessly heated to a low boil, but I didn't move. Instead, I let it hit my back dangerously, as I tried desperately not to notice that her shampoo was still in the corner of my shower, that her body wash was still overturned and that it had dropped over the edge of the tub, staining the while a deep purple, that I was sure would only fade and not erase. It seemed appropriate. 

I caught a glimpse at the stains on the shower walls, when we had tried out shower crayons that I had found in my mother's attic. We had written J+M in a small heart, but the red had never washed off of the walls, and I was sure it never would. There were other things. Silly messages, love poems, little stars she had doodled absently, story ideas I had jotted down, notes she had added onto them-- it seemed endless, because we had felt endless. 

We knew they wouldn't erase, but we had never seen the point in not drawing them-- we were engaged, going to be together forever... There was no reason it taking them down. 

Now the shower was all mine, and her love poems were scratched onto the tile like curses. 

Roses are red,  
Violets are blue,  
I'll be at work when you read this,  
But Jean, I love you

I made a mental note to grab Advil when I got out of the shower, because it didn't seem like this headache was going anywhere on its own. 

I tried to focus on the things Sasha had written on the nights she slept over. 

You guys are out of milk-- GET MORE. 

We're having bacon for breakfast tomorrow, right?

You know what you should do for your very best friend for her birthday? I've heard she really needs a new phone case!

There were a few others, but they went blurry with tears. I blamed the shampoo that dropped into my eyes, rubbed at them with a clean towel, leaning out of the shower to keep my eyes off of the scribbles. It took me another few minutes to drag myself out of the shower, but when I got out, I didn't bother with clothes, only wrapped my towel around my waist. 

My stomach rumbled irritably, but instead of heading to the kitchen, I turned into my office. The room was poorly lit, and a mess. I walked past the post-it notes with a sigh, didn't bother looking at my notebooks, or storyboard. I simply sat down, booted up my computer, and began writing.


	2. Chapter 2

We had a tough time deciding when the wedding would be. I liked the fall, but Mika was a fan of the Summer, and after weeks of pie charts, statistics and weather predictions-- Eventually we decided on September first, a happy medium. 

The preparations were tedious, and I seemed more excitable than she was. She hadn’t been reluctant to accept the proposal. In fact, she seemed happy enough, a wide smile plastering her face, head bobbing up and down. There weren’t any tears, and I hadn’t really been expecting them. Mikasa had never been a crier. 

I seemed to care about most things more than her. Mika, who do you want to cater? I really don't care, Jean, figure it out! Mikasa, where do you want it to be? A church? Jean, really, I don't care. I managed to swallow down my frustrations with a wide smile. 

Sure, I promised, I'll get it done. And I did-- we were getting married in the park where we had our first date, under the tree we carved our names into. Perfect, right? I didn't fancy myself a romantic, but I had my moments. 

And surprisingly, she agreed. "Like I said, Jean: all I care about is having a summer wedding." 

As was stated earlier, we came to a compromise on that. 

Things were going... Well seems like an exaggeration. 

She rarely wore the ring, and I tried not to ask about it. The night I proposed, she wouldn't take it off, and the Fourth of July fireworks reflected beautifully in the diamond. I caught Sasha smiling at it a few times. She offered me an exuberant thumbs up, and I couldn't help but grin to myself. Now, though, I only saw it on her when we went out to a fancy restaurant. I did my best not to let it bother me. 

It was August fifth and I was feeling good. In a few weeks I'd be married, and the week after that we'd be somewhere in Europe enjoying taxed drinks and chatting up the locals. I knew French, she knew Italian-- how could it be more perfect? 

I straightened my jacket in the mirror, considering calling Connie and asking how I looked-- then I wondered if I really wanted to get fashion advice from the guy who usually wears socks with his sandals. I decided I looked fine. 

Traditionally, bachelor and bachelorette parties are thrown the night before the big day, but Mikasa and I both decided we might as well get them over with. Further than that, they're usually thrown on the same night, but on the night of her bachelorette party I'd had a lot of work to catch up on, and we decided it wouldn't be that bad to break tradition. We'd done worse. 

My phone buzzed: Connie telling me he was in my driveway, and to hurry my ass up. The usual. I grabbed my keys, made my way down to the front porch, and locked the door behind me. 

I was living alone at the moment, in the townhouse Mikasa would be moving into after we were married. Her mother insisted on it, and so it was. 

When I slid into the front seat of the car, Eren and Marco sat in the back, and I caught my freckled friend glaring at the other distastefully. I shook my head-- it was probably my imagination. 

"Yoooooo! What's up, Jeany?" Connie demanded, and I sighed heavily. His car smelled like cigarette smoke and aged booze. Marco shifted uncomfortably behind me. 

"Well I'm with you--"

"Perfect, let's get going! I've got the best night planned-- you'll love it." 

I tried not to feel too uneasy. "Only three more weeks of being unmarried," I chuckled in response. 

Eren and Marco exchanged a glance that I didn't understand. Bott elbowed Eren in the arm sharply, and he cleared his throat. 

"Yeah, about that, Jean," Jeager spoke up. I twisted in my seat to face him, "I need to tell you something."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow these chapters went up fast


	3. Chapter Three

The game of stare-tag went on until my break. It came sooner than I had expected it would. I had woken up in the morning expecting the day to drag on with the summer heat, and I’d be stuck at the kiosk until lunch (which would, of course, feel like a millennium ), and then my break would blaze by and I’d be stuck, once again, bartering off hats that would never be worn off of the carnival grounds.

My first thought was that this was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. 

She worked the hot dog stand across the aisle from me.

Her shiny black hair hung just below her shoulder blades, and when she would hand out the hot dogs, she seemed apathetic-- except for when the customers were children; she'd offer them a wide grin, a handshake. It was adorable. Truth be told, I was perfectly content with spending the day watching her. Every once in a while I thought I caught her looking back at me, but there was a strong possibility it was just my imagination. Or, maybe, she looked away when I looked up from the cash register, a customer, a patron looking for directions. 

The moment my manager let me off, I had a plan. I simply turned, grabbed the hat I had been eyeing off of the stand, and handed the cash to my manager with a nod. He took it with a wink-- which, of course, would have been creepy had I not known where he was coming from. He might as well have said, “go get ‘er, Tiger.” Or, maybe not, now that I think about it. That would have been much worse.

I waited until there were no more customers gathering at the end of her line to hop in behind a mother and her two screaming children. Despite their whining, the girl still offered them a wide grin, a shake of her hand, and a pleasant farewell as their mother paid. I was finally close enough to read the name pinned to her shirt: Mikasa, and I wondered whether I would pronounce it correctly on the first time or not. I suppose, if I didn’t, we’d have something in common. 

"Welcome to Greg's Dogs, how can I help you?" She didn't look up from the register as I approached. I cleared my throat awkwardly. 

"Uh, actually, I wanted to help you. I mean, it's pretty hot out here, and I figured you could use some shade." I held up the hat with a cheeky grin, and she finally chose to look up at me. "So I got you a hat."

She stared at the giant hot dog in amazement, or maybe confusion. 

"That's a hat," she confirmed. I couldn't tell if she was excited or not, but she still took the hat from my hands, and examined it idly. "You're the guy that works at the hat stand."

It hadn't exactly been a question, but I agreed anyway. "I am indeed. And you are... Mike-ass-ah?" I held out a polite hand, and she shook it with the semblance of a smile. 

"Mee-kah-suh," she corrected, and it sounded much prettier when she said it. "And you're Gene?"

"Jean," I corrected, "John with a softer 'J.'" She chuckled, and I allowed a pleasant nod of my head. "You're not the first person to make that mistake," I promised, "it works that way with just about everyone I meet."

"It's a very pretentious name," she told me. 

"It's French," I said, feigning offense. 

"As I said." 

The banter went on for a few more minutes, and I had successfully found a comfortable position to lean against the counter and still face her, when her alarm for lunch dinged. "That would be me," Mikasa said, untying the strings of her apron with a heavy sigh of relief. 

"Want to grab some lunch together?" I asked, pushing myself off the metal cart. The little engraved stars on the sides of it had left unattractive indents in my thighs. "I've got another half hour for my break."

She seemed to consider as she hung the apron up, a questioning hum coming from her. 

She seemed to consider it. "I don't see why not," Mikasa said finally. She was very reserved, and I couldn’t tell if it was off-putting or comforting. She hadn’t seemed to agree with reluctance, but she didn’t seem particularly eager, either, and it almost made me feel as if I were intruding-- however, I took the confirmation for what it was. 

“I’m guessing you’re not in the mood for hot dogs?” I asked, and she shook her head. 

“I’m a vegetarian,” Mikasa corrected, and I must have looked shocked because she quickly added, “it’s not some animal rights thing, I just don’t like meat very much. The taste is really strong. I’m fine with handing customers pig pot-pourri. So long as they don’t make me taste it first.”

“Has that happened before?” the corners of my lips twitched. 

“One time. It was some old man who kept insisting I was trying to poison him,” she didn’t seem totally interested in the story, and I wondered how on earth that was possible, “so when I handed him his hot dog he screeched, ‘I know you put something in it! It’s in the mustard, isn’t it?’ and he wouldn’t leave the kiosk until I took a bite of it to prove I didn’t slip cyanide into his condiments.” 

“Wow,” the word came out in a breath of disbelief.

“What about you? Any weird customers?” she asked, side-eyeing me as we walked. I shook my head.

“It’s my first year working here. I normally spend the summers working my father’s business, but my little brother is old enough to take my job now. So now I have to get my own job, because they only have enough room for one extra employee each summer.” I raked my fingers through my hair with a breathy laugh, “but I don’t mind too much. I’ve graduated college, so it’s about time I get a full time job, anyway. Though, the carnival only comes around in the summer, so once this is gone. I’m out of a job again.”

She nodded knowingly. “I’m already looking. I suggest you do the same. You can’t live on less than minimum wage for more than three months out of a year.” 

“I’ll take that advice. I’ve got an English major, maybe I’ll become a teacher or something.” I shrugged, and stretched my back out with a sigh. “I’ve always wanted to be a writer, though.”

“Doesn’t sound like it’ll pay the bills, Jean Austin,” she told me, and she let out a small chuckle when I huffed indignantly. 

“Hilarious,” I deadpanned. “Obviously I’ll have a job on top of it. At least, until I get published, and the books go flying off the shelves.” I nudged her arm lightly, and she snorted.

“You’re very confident, Jean,” she told me, and I shrugged.

“If I’m not confident, I’m not getting anywhere.” I saw her raise an eyebrow. 

"Absolutely nowhere?" And I nodded. 

"If I don't think I'm good, I'll never be." I shoved my hands loosely in my pockets, "I'm not cocky," well, not all the time, "as long as I'm not arrogant, I can afford some self-esteem."

She considered it with a hum. "Has anyone explicitly told you that you're good?" I shrugged. 

"I've had a few teachers tell me, and I've got some pretty good reviews on my fanfiction account," I joked. She shook her head. 

"I wrote book reviews for the school paper all of high school. You should let me read something sometime." Her interest was mild, but the request still made me smile. 

"So you're a writer too, huh?" I turned my head idly to look at her. "Were you impossible to please, or were you the nice one?"

"I was pretty tough," she said thoughtfully. "I don't think anything I reviewed got more than three stars."

"Ouch!" I laughed, "I'm guessing that's out of five stars?"

"Six," she corrected. 

"I bet I could get all six," I told her. It didn't occur to me that we had stopped walking until my watch dinged. "Oh, shit. My break's up."

"I'll catch you tomorrow," she promised, and I nodded. "And bring some of your writing in, Jean. I'd love to read it."

"Yeah. Sure," I agreed, turning on my heel. "I'll talk to you later!"

"Later!"

Meeting up for lunch became a habit after that. Of course, we actually ate most days, and even though I forgot to bring my notebook in, she was nice enough about it. And by that, I mean she didn't get angry, or bring it up again. Not for a couple of weeks, anyway. 

"So," she said over a plateful of fries. For a vegetarian, she sure knew how to eat unhealthy. Then again, she worked at a carnival, and even the salads are deep-fried. "When are you bringing something in for me to read?" 

"Maybe you scared me off," I teased. I took a sip of my soda thoughtfully, and she raised an eyebrow. 

"Scared you off?"

"What, with all your talk of failure and everything. Maybe I want to be a science teacher now." She rolled her eyes, and took another bite of her lunch. 

“You keep forgetting, don’t you?” I nodded sheepishly. Mikasa reached into her pocket, and tossed me her cell phone-- I almost dropped it in my soda, I was completely unprepared. “Put your number in,” she ordered, “I’ll text you a reminder.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took longer than I expected to come out. Good thing summer vacation's finally here. Maybe I'll get some writing done.


	4. Chapter 4

When Eren delivered the news, I calmly asked Connie to take me back home. For once in his life, he didn't object. Although, that could be because he was as surprised as I was. He made an illegal U-turn, and we were on our way. 

Marco tried to get out of the car with me, but I shook my head, and waved him away. 

"I'm okay, man," I promised. "I just... Need to think." I patted the roof of the car reassuringly, and he looked at me warily before nodding slowly.

"I'm sorry for ruining your night, Jean," Eren began, but I shut the door in his face before he could continue. Connie offered me a weary smile, and Marco looked like he was holding his breath as they backed out of my driveway. 

I almost felt bad for bailing. I knew Connie spent a lot of time planning the bachelor party. Weeks, actually. He and Marco obsessed over every detail, but they never once let me see the file. Hell, they even considered it some kind of taboo to talk about around me. I knew he’d call, or at least shoot me a text, after he dropped Eren off. I had a feeling that, despite the fact that Eren lived particularly out of the way, Connie would be sure to drop him off before Marco. 

I watched the car until it turned the corner. I rubbed at my eyes for a long while, until galaxies replaced the sun setting over my neighbor’s house, and sighed. It took a few minutes of me standing there until I finally reached into my pocket, dug around, and pulled my keys out. They jingled, and I winced. My head was suddenly pounding. 

I thumbed the fob for a few seconds, staring at my car thoughtfully, before clicking the unlock button. Old Bessie beeped to life, and I climbed in. I slid into the driver's side, my eyes skimming the dashboard blankly. I took a few deep breaths before slipping the keys into the ignition and starting the car. 

It didn't take long for me to get out of the development. I wasn't sure where I was going. I barely paid attention to the road, let alone where I was taking myself. I turned down a few dead-end roads I had known about since I was young, made a few illegal turns. I was lucky the roads were almost dead. I pulled into a grocery store parking lot to make the call, my breath held as the phone rang. 

She picked up on the third ring. "Hey, honey! You having a good time? If you're drunk, I'm going to assume the answer is yes." My eyes slid shut, and she heard my sigh on the other end of the line. "Jean, is everything alright?"

"Mikasa, I need to talk to you."

"Yeah, sure." She didn't sound worried, but she rarely did. I couldn't tell whether it was a good sign or not. 

In a an act of courage, I told her what Eren said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is really short but writer's block has been killing me whoops


End file.
